


Hands-Free Calling

by vienn_peridot



Series: Eta Carinae 230 [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Other, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this submission to the OTP Prompts Tumblr:<br/>"Imagine Person A helps Person B masturbate and Person B cuddles with them and brings them tea after"<br/>Contents may vary slightly from the picture on the box.</p><p>(Person A=Rodimus, Person B=Minimus Ambus)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Camster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camster/gifts).



> The saga of cheesy names for this AU continues.

# One

Minimus Ambus swore the universe was out to get him.

This just wasn’t fair!

At first he suspected conspiracy on the part of his Cohort.

It was simply asking too much to believe that it was sheer coincidence that the Magnus armour _and_ his outer Minimus armour developed faults severe enough for them to be left with Ratchet so soon after Rung suggested Minimus spend more time in his irreducible form.

However both Rung and Ratchet had appeared to be completely innocent of collusion in regards to this infuriating event. As Ratchet put it, ‘Slag happens’. Even Minimus Ambus had to agree that ‘slag’ like this was _much_ more likely to happen after the joint fiascos of Overlord and Luna-1 than in all the cycles previous.

It still didn’t mean he was happy about it.

Even with the open honestly in their EM Fields he didn’t entirely believe his Cohort-mates. Taken individually or together the medically-orientated mecha were cunning in the extreme and they were also _far_ too experienced with lying for Ambus’ peace of mind.

All of which brought about his current predicament.

Ratchet assured him that barring any _unexpected_ catastrophes both his outer armour and the Magnus Armour would be fully functional in two days.

Minimus Ambus had actually snorted at that. A catastrophe was unexpected _by definition_.

After some worried questions Ratchet had assured Minimus that the sensornet of his irreducible frame wasn’t any more responsive than that of the Magnus Armour or the outer Ambus armour. Several scans later Ratchet declared that the increase in sensitivity Minimus was experiencing was psychosomatic and would disappear with time. Rung had even gone so far as to support Ratchet’s claims.

_Their behaviour is_ highly _suspicious._

Both of them had flatly refused to allow Minimus to reduce the tactile receptivity of his sensornet, threatening him with dire consequences if either medic or psychiatrist caught him fiddling with it. The load bearer had exploded in an uncharacteristic display of temper and stomped off to his quarters, intent on avoiding the rest of the crew for as long as possible.

So: Minimus Ambus was currently fuming quietly in his quarters, unsuccessfully trying to ignore a constant state of low-level arousal that was being caused by this so-called ‘psychosomatic’ case of full-frame sensitivity.

Upon returning to his quarters he’d tried to relax under the warm solvent spray of his private washracks. That had been given up as a bad idea when the solvent running down his frame had _increased_ his charge to the point where he was shaking on the verge of overload. Minimus had slammed the spray off and stomped out of the washrack, sparks crackling over his plating and scowling fit to melt metal with sheer ire.

_This must be how Rodimus feels when he doesn’t spend enough time racing._

Minimus fumed and gritted his denta and after a while the charge subsided to a maddening simmer and his cooling system dealt efficiently with the excess heat.

The low buzz of arousal in his systems just _wouldn’t_ go.

Minimus Ambus was more aware of his interfacing systems and Spark chamber than he could remember being since receiving his adult upgrades. Listening to music didn’t help and he simply couldn’t focus past the tingling in his frame for the length of time required to truly lose himself in a datapad.

After re-reading the same paragraph five times and not understanding it Minimus gritted his denta and concluded that reading wouldn’t help, carefully replacing the datapad on the shelf beside his berth.

By now the load-bearer was desperate enough to try _anything_ to rid himself of the charge that was steadily driving him completely insane.

_Perhaps I should try dealing with this the same way Rodimus does. It is certainly_ effective _, if undignified._

With a resigned sigh Minimus laid himself comfortably in the exact centre of his berth, limbs at precise angles. The thick padding beneath his frame felt much firmer than usual without the bulk of the Magnus Armour or the frames of his Cohort compressing it. An unexpected stab of loneliness in his Spark almost put him off, but the thought of Cohort beside him while he was in this irreducible form made his cooling fans re-engage against all conceivable logic.

_Everyone else is on shift and I_ did _do this before Rodimus dragged me into his Cohort._

Deliberately ignoring the fact that such incidents had been rare in the extreme, Minimus Ambus offlined his optics and focused on stoking the slow burn in his circuitry back to a flame that could be more easily dealt with.

It was easy enough to start with. Running his fingers over his chestplates in delicate patterns to rediscover what felt good quickly turned into chasing the tingle of dormant charge along transformation seams with determined fingers. His spinal struts arched, thrusting his chestplates and Sparkchamber towards the ceiling of his quarters.

As he continued to work over his thoracic armour Minimus felt his hips begin to rock in time with the surges of pleasure conjured by the movement of his hands, a relatively new habit that felt more comforting than he thought it would be. A mathematically precise series of strokes and taps around the central segment of his chest armour ignited pleasure that surged and rolled, wiping all else from his processor.

No matter how he teased at the lines where his form folded on itself he just couldn’t convince his chestplates to part. He simply felt too exposed to convince his autonomics to bare his Sparkchamber for a clean round of self-servicing. Minimus almost whined with aggravation but refused to manually engage the opening sequence.

There _was_ another option.

Even if it did take longer.

Loose charge crackled over green and white plating in little lightning strikes of pleasure. By the time he made it down to his hip joints, Minimus Ambus was panting through his oral cavity in an attempt to aid his straining cooling systems.

_Oh, I’d forgotten it felt like this._

Green fingers unerringly found _the_ set of control wires which sent a deliciously intense wave of phantom sensation tingling through his substructure. Engine straining, Minimus massaged them again, fingers working hard through both hips in an attempt to build his charge to the point where it would tip him into overload. Biting his lower lipplate he swallowed his irritation and increased the pace of his fingers.

The harder he chased it the faster his overload retreated from him.

Minimus gritted his denta, growling in frustration as his interface array pinged for permission to activate _again_. Stubbornly ignoring the insistent requests from his array, Minimus removed one hand from a hip and returned it to his chestplates.

Desperately he rubbed long, firm strokes into the plating over his Spark while the other hand dug deeper into his hip joints than he’d ever gone before, finding some truly delightful nodes that did absolutely nothing towards bringing him release. What it did instead was provoke his array into sending _more_ pings.

When it reached the point that Minimus feared the heat of his pelvic array would scorched his berth padding he gave up in disgust, throwing his hands out to his sides and glaring up at the ceiling.

_This is **impossible**_.

His entire frame throbbed, aching from the sheer volume of excess charge surging through his systems.

It was driving him insane.

If Minimus damaged himself enough to need medical treatment he knew he’d _never_ hear the end of it.

_Desperate times…_

He commed Rodimus.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Commspeak]

# TWO

To Minimus’ relief, Rodimus answered his comm straight away.

[Magnus? What’s up?]

The loadbearer sent Rodimus a databurst containing the facts of his situation. While waiting for a response Minimus trembled silently on his berth with a combination of embarrassment and arousal so intense it hurt.

[Slag.]

Forcing down an uncharacteristically biting comment, Minimus forced himself to respond calmly.

[What do you suggest?]

Even if Rodimus couldn’t –or wouldn’t- help him, it was possible that another trip to his washracks would finish what Minimus had started. With this in mind Minimus sat up and slid off the berth, making it halfway to his destination before Rodimus replied.

[How about you grab some cleaning cloths, I talk you through it and if you feel like it afterwards we could have some fuel in my office? I kinda miss you, Mags]

Minimus almost stumbled at the response, catching himself against the wall as he processed the unhappy subglyphs attached to the last four words. Luna-1 had created a rift between them that had been only partially bridged. Drift’s absence from the Cohort was glaringly obvious to them every time they interacted.

[I miss you too, Rodimus.]

There was momentary silence as they both digested that exchange before Rodimus’ irrepressible nature saved them any further embarrassment.

[So you get those cloths and we’ll get you respectable enough to be seen in public so we can have a catch-up, yeah?]

[I was heading to my washrack, if you think that would be more appropriate?]

Rodimus made a thoughtful noise over the comm.

[Personally I like berth or a chair because it’s more comfortable, but I think you’d be happier with washracks.]

[If the shower I attempted to take earlier is any indication, it should certainly help speed things along.]

Minimus couldn’t keep himself from stacking irritated modifiers onto his words. The speedster sounded both amused and sympathetic as Minimus entered his washrack for the second time that day and switched on the solvent flow.

[Now you know why I avoid the communal washracks when we haven’t been planetside in a while.]

Rodimus sounded thoroughly embarrassed; Minimus guess that he was probably wearing that sheepish little half-grin of his.

Minimus deliberately relaxed his green and white armour in order to get the most stimulation possible before bracing himself and stepping into the solvent spray. It took a few moments to gather his thoughts again after the initial onslaught of solvent steaming off his plating had subsided and respond to Rodimus.

[I shall keep that in mind next time I catch you racing around the ship.]

Modifiers of fondness and amusement accompanied those glyphs and Rodimus made a truly interesting choking sound. Minimus could feel the charge level in his systems building again and for the moment he was content to let it, enjoying the pleasure washing through him with the safety of Cohort on the other side of the comm.

_Wait. Rodimus._

[Might I ask what you intend to do while you instruct me?] Minimus asked, [I know you are not unaffected by explicit talk and I don’t want you to suffer any discomfort.]

[To be honest Mags; I haven’t really felt like doing much since… since Overlord.]

The reminder was painful for both of them and the loadbearer was grateful that Rodimus continued quickly.

[Would you like me to wait for you or tell you what I’m doing if I join in?]

[You are _on shift_.]

Minimus bit out, ignoring the surge of excitement at the image of Rodimus sprawling comfortably in his office chair, legs splayed while he dragged his fingers over his own glossy plating.

[On shift, doing non-urgent paperwork and _entirely_ capable of multitasking like an adult.]

Minimus moaned at Rodimus’ choice of modifying glyphs, hands rising unconsciously to trace the central portion of his chestplates again. The cunning young speedster had somehow picked the perfect combination of professionalism and vulgarity that absolutely did it for Minimus.

[I challenge you to prove it.]

The growl of Minimus’ own engine wasn’t as powerful as that of the Magnus Armour, but it still echoed impressively enough in the tiled room to emphasise his words.

[Pics or it didn’t happen?]

Knowing that nobody could see him Minimus rolled his optics and refused to dignify the Earth slang with a response. Rodimus knew exactly what his reaction to that sally would be.

[You’ll have my Field afterwards and the timestamps on these documents to prove it, Mags. Hey, how are you going over there?]

[I am in the washrack, continuing tactile stimulation of my chestplates.]

Minimus had no trouble picturing the exasperated look Rodimus would give him for his dry choice of words. The sigh he sent over comms said everything.

[Continue the tactile stimulation and _don’t_ try to force anything.] Rodimus sent sternly. [ _No_ overriding anything either.]

[Yes _Captain_.]

Minimus tried for sarcastic subglyphs but came out with something closer to hunger. Although his tanks were full he definitely hungered for something. Every neural relay ached from too-high charge and the need for overload to clear his systems.

All he had to do was follow Rodimus’ instructions and let go.

He could trust the speedster. He was Cohort.

[Just don’t forget that I can’t see what you’re doing, _Soldier_.]

Rodimus once again displayed an unexpectedly acute grasp of subtlty  in his choice of subglyphs, the implications they created within the sentence made Minimus’ kneejoints go irrationally wobbly. Green fingers trembled as they slid down the main transformation seams of Minimus’ torso, Rodimus purring over comms as he did so.

[So you have to keep me informed of your _progress_.]

_Tsche-klik_

Even though he was alone Minimus buried his faceplates in his hands. The warm solvent running over his suddenly-exposed array dragged a low moan of desire and embarrassment from his vocaliser.

[Primary and Secondary pelvic interface covers retracted; array fully exposed. Request instruction on how to proceed.]

The formal phrasing provided a welcome refuge for the last shreds of his dignity, despite what he was asking Rodimus to do.

_Tell me how to overload myself over comms because I can’t get myself off. Primus!_

[Wow, that’s- Ok, right. Um, _wow_.]

[Rodimus!]

Miniumus snapped, tone and glyphs full of warning.

He could _feel_ his spike pulsing as errant drops of moisture trickled across oversensitive nodes and his damned valve was leaking _all down his legs_. If he hadn’t been in the washracks where the lubricant was washing away as quickly as it appeared he would not be in a good state of processor. With Cohort he could manage, by himself he greatly preferred the tidy tactile or Sparkplay release his frame had stubbornly denied him.

The entire situation was _unbearable_.

[Sorry! Alright, then. You’re unused to array overloads in your irreducible form, correct?]

Rodimus had calmed down enough to reassume his professional demeanour.

[Correct.]

[Sit on the washrack floor with the spray falling on your array. With charge as high as yours is right now the overload surge will temporarily disable the major motor controls to your legs.]

Minimus adjusted the showerhead then pressed his back to the smooth tiled wall of the washrack, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. The warm solvent poured down his frame, funnelled through transformation seams and armour gaps to sluice over his array in an unbroken stream which then flowed from between his spread legs and on down into the drain.

[Position assumed, Captain.]

[Alright. With one hand I want you to touch your favourite places for a tactile overload. With the other I want you to find the sensitive places on your irreducible spike.]

Without hesitation Minimus obeyed the voice of command, barely grasping the modifiers Rodimus used implying sufficiency/completion instead of potential lack when he said the words ‘ _irreducible_ spike’.

As ordered, he dug one hand back into his hip joints and the other began thoroughly mapping the surface of his spike. Several places made him buck under the touch of his own fingers, automatically squeezing harder to get more stimulation. For now Minimus firmly ignored the source of viscous pink-tinged fluid emerging between his parted thighs, the penetrable array that was also demanding stimulation.

_Not this time. I can’t handle that right now. Next time. Maybe._

Time stretched and flowed as Minimus explored and re-tested his findings, confirming and logging which areas produced consistently higher pleasure than others.

[Mags?]

[Magnus?]

[Minimus? Answer me!]

[H-here.]

[Have you completed your last task?]

Minimus swiftly checked over his spike, making sure he really _had_ found all the particularly sensitive spots.

[Affirmative.]

[Excellent work.]

_Again_ Rodimus used that particular combination of modifiers that sent an uncontrollable bolt of lust through the loadbearer’s systems. Minimus moaned aloud and over comms, rolling his hips in a motion that moved the fingers in his joint against delicate wiring and slid his spike through the loose grip of his hand.

[Now I want you to listen to me, Minimus. This is going to be ok. The solvent will take care of any mess and I will be right here with you the whole time.]

Minimus made a strangled noise, unable to articulate anything with the sheer volume of directionless charge surging through his frame.

[I want you to continue the tactile stimulation and begin to stroke yourself the way you would if your spike was one of your Cohorts, using the pleasurable locations you just mapped out. Do you understand?]

[Y-yes Sir. I understand. Commencing stipulated activities.]

Minimus adjusted the positioning of the fingers within his hip joint to take advantage of the reflex thrusting he knew would come. Once they were in the optimal placement he began to slowly stroke the other hand over his spike, carefully twisting this wrist to catch the nodes he’d found earlier.

[Good work.]

He hadn’t been expecting praise, _certainly_ not for this! Minimus’ hand gave an involuntary squeeze, thumb sliding in the solvent flick sharply over the head of his spike. The automatic lurch of his hips _into_ the sensation dragged the fingers in his hip over the deep nodes he’d stimulated earlier.

Red-hot pleasure roared through his frame.

**_Oh_**.

Minimus teetered on the edge of release, powerless in the face of the impending overload. He keened in helpless frustration, helm thrashing backwards and forwards as he rejected the untidiness that would accompany this overload even as he deliberately repeated the squeeze-and-flick action that had brought him to this point.

[Remember, I expect you to complete a _full_ report of this incident, Magnus.]

[Rodim- _AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!_ ]

He overloaded with a wail, the frustrating pressure in his systems shattering into an uninterrupted surge of pure bliss. Lightning arced from plate to plate across his frame to eventually ground itself in the floor. A brief splatter of something warm and sticky touched his faceplates to be quickly washed away by the solvent.

Minimus sat silently beneath the solvent flow for a full breem, fuzzy with post-overload contentment and unable to process anything beyond the glorious freedom from the maddening charge that had been plaguing him.

[Mags? You ok?]

[I am fine now Rodimus. Thank you for assisting me.]

[Thank me by bringing me a cube? If you still wanna hang out, that is.]

[I shall be there shortly.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I have no idea what I'm doing. Omfg.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two assholes turned the last chapter from nice happy cuddles into some horrible angsty feels-fest.  
> Fuck it, I'm done.

# Three

Minimus had a remarkably uneventful trip to Rodimus’ office. The longest part of it was standing outside the door, studying the fresh weld marks around the frame and trying to work up the courage to request permission to enter.

It was a lot harder to do than he’d imagined it would be.

Rodimus solved the problem for him, opening the door with a frown that turned into a shy smile when he saw the loadbearer standing awkwardly in the corridor. The speedster was wearing the flame-printed thermal poncho Drift had made to keep him warm when he had to be still for long periods of time.

“I figured you’d be standing out here like some kind of awkward statue by now.” Rodimus said, “Come in!”

Minimus did as ordered, stopping in place when he caught sight of unpainted repairs all over the lurid pinks walls.

It looked like Rodimus had indulged in a rather _impressive_ tantrum while he had been away.

The loadbearer frowned up at Rodiums, all the disapproval he felt at the damage and what it implied filling his Field for Rodimus to feel.

“Oh, right. _That_.” Rodimus rubbed the back of his helm in a nervous habit he’d picked up from Drift. “Yeah… I kinda took the whole Overlord rampage thing and your death… um, badly.”

Rodimus avoided Minimus’ optics, looking everywhere except at the loadbearer. His Field was full of shame and remembered grief. Minimus tried to make Rodimus look at him with sheer force of will but Rodimus shot out of Field range and sat down at his desk again, looking down at whatever he’d been working on.

“Rodimus, I am truly sorry I never told you the truth about the Armour.” Minimus pulled a cube of specially flavoured Energon from his subspace and stepped forward to place it on Rodimus’ desk like a peace offering. “I am deeply touched by how much you care for me and it hurt me greatly that I was unable to tell you.”

Now it was Minimus who was avoiding Rodimus’ optics.

The current reversal of their height difference made it much easier than it would normally have been. Stalling, Minimus took a deep invent, noting the lack of ozone or even the tangy warmed-metal scent of arousal in the office.

“According to Ratchet this current state of affairs should only last another day or so. Thank you for assisting me with my problem. It was extremely generous of you.” Deciding to leave before the situation became any more awkward, Minimus turned to the door. “I should go.”

He heard the captain’s chair scrape against the floor but was nearly at the door before Rodimus spoke.

“Please stay?” The speedster asked quietly. “I miss hanging out with you. It doesn’t matter what you look like or what your designation really is. I just miss…you”

Before he could stop himself Minimus stretched his Field out far enough to brush against the upper layers of Rodimus’. The brief contact left no doubt that Rodimus was speaking the truth, no matter how hard it was for Minimus to believe. He turned slowly to face the speedster again, shocked to see Rodimus lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of his desk, that stupid thermal poncho making him look like a badly-decorated tent.

Minimus hadn’t even heard him move.

He could actually feel Rodimus struggling with himself. From past experience Minimus guessed he was either trying not to use turbopuppy optics or simply tackle-hug his irreducible frame.

Even without the turbopuppy optics Minimus couldn’t resist the force of their combined loneliness. Before his processors could even register that he’d moved, Minimus was standing in Rodimus’ lap with the speedster’s helm tucked under his chin while Rodimus clung to him like a sparkling.

Minimus wrapped one thin arm around Rodimus’ helm and used the other to gently stroke the younger mechs neck cables the way Rung did when Rodimus was distressed.

His fingers were finally the right size to do it properly.

“How you feeling?” Rodimus asked after a while, not raising his helm.

“Much better now. Thank you Rodimus.”

“Missed you.” Rodimus mumbled into his chestplates.

“I missed you too.” Minimus replied, kissing the top of Rodimus’ helm.

The pair settled into comfortable silence after that, engines purring as their Fields slowly relaxed and meshed. They stayed like that even after Minimus slid into an exhausted recharge, secure within the support of Rodimus’ arms.


End file.
